


I’m With Ya

by seizethosegays



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Panic Attack, Race has a panic attack, please be careful if that’s a trigger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 06:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16738867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seizethosegays/pseuds/seizethosegays
Summary: Race has a panic attackSpot helpstw: Panic attack and mention of blood





	I’m With Ya

Race tried to take a deep breath, but just ended up coughing. Short breaths it is. He could feel his heart slamming against his ribs. It was the only thing he could hear. Everything was hot and cold at once. It was getting harder and harder to breath. He didn’t know how this happened. It was some reason he couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that it was getting harder to breath and he was crying and his arms were stinging and he didn’t know why. His chest hurt. It felt like someone was sitting on him and wouldn’t get off. He felt uneasy but that was ridiculous, right? He was at home and perfectly fine. So why did it feel like his whole world was falling apart.   
.....  
Spot walked down the street, his hands in his pockets. Today was a good day. He had gotten a longer lunch break, and he got to go home early. There was something in the back of his mind telling him that something was wrong. He just chalked it up to not being used to go home early. Today was great. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and there was a lovely breeze that tied everything together beautifully. 

He approached the apartment building and smiled. Race was probably home, too. So Spot wouldn’t be home by himself for the day. He pushed open the doors and jogged up the steps. The elevators just took to long and Spot didn’t want to wait. It wasn’t a long jog, they lived on the third floor. Spot walked down the hall and stopped at the door. He looked at it. The door was open. The door was never left open unless there was a reason. And Race would never leave the door open if it was just him.

Spot pushed the door open farther and stepped inside, closing it behind him. He half expected someone to have broken in, destroying the place in the process. But no. Everything was where it should have been. The tv was on, books on the coffee table, a bag of cheetos on the counter. Everything was there. Everything except Race. Race was nowhere to be seen. Something wasn’t right. And Spot didn’t like it.

“Race?” he called, only to be met with silence. “Race, I’m home!” Silence. It was very unsettling. Usually, Race would greet Spot or just shush him because he was watching a movie. Just, anything to let Spot know that he was home. And he usually was. And, if not, there was a note on the door or the counter. And there wasn’t a note. Spot didn’t like this. Not one bit. He walked through the apartment, looking for Race. He wasn’t in the kitchen or living room. Or in the spare bedroom or the extra bathroom.

Spot stood in the middle of their bedroom. He couldn't find Race. He sighed, closing his eyes and dropping his head into his hands. This was hopeless. Then he heard it. It sounded like crying and someone breathing. Spot perked up and rushed to their shared bathroom. That's where he found Race. 

Race was sitting in the bathtub, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms keeping them there. His head was laying on is knees. The boy was taking short breaths, that looked painful. The boy was shaking and his clothes were stained with tears. His nails were dug into his arms and his arms were...bleeding? Yeah, that was definitely blood. Spot didn’t say anything at first. He just climbed into the bathtub and gently grabbed Race’s hands. Race jerked back, startled.

“It’s me, Race. It’s Spot,” he whispered, just loud enough for Race to hear. He gently grabbed Race’s hands, forcing them away from his arms. Once Race stopped trying to put his arms back, Spot pulled Race into his lap. The shorter boy just held him. He held Race’s hands so he couldn’t dig his nails into his skin. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” Spot asked. Race squeezed Spot’s hands twice. They had come up with a system a while back. One ment yes, two ment no. “I’m right here. Nothing is going to get ya. I won't let it. I am trained in the art of the sword. They would have to fight me first. Just breathe ok? Just breathe. Hey, how was that movie you watched last night?” Spot asked. 

Race tried to answer, but it just turned into a coughing fit. “That's ok, Race. Tell me when you can, no rush. You won't believe this person I had to deal with. She was absolutely insane. She asked if they sold peanut free peanut butter cookies at the coffee shop. Who does that?” He could feel Race’s short breaths get longer. That was good. “And what kind of person asks for organic tea? What even is organic tea? People these days. That’s why I hang out with you, because you don’t ask stupid questions.”

“But I-I ask so-some weird questions,” Race hiccuped. Spot grinned. He was calmed down enough to answer. That was good. 

“Well yeah. But the ones you ask are entertaining,” Spot pointed out. Spot and Race, mostly Spot, continued to have a conversation for a few minutes before Spot pulled Race out of the bathtub to bandage his arms. Neither boy said a word until Spot was done. 

“Spot?” Race called, getting Spot’s attention. The shorter boy looked back at Race. “Thank you. And, I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“You ain't got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Spot gave Race a smile. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s a natural response. I chose to deal with it. I have and always will. You can’t get rid of me, I’m with you forever. I’m with ya for all of it.” Race smiled. Spot was with him, and he was with Spot.


End file.
